#WriterProblems

     I work well under pressure. It is for that reason that I have decided to procrastinate (yet again) and finish my blog entries this weekend. I have a total of seventeen currently, after this piece is finished I will have eighteen. That leaves a total of seven entries needed for a possible A, but I have no doubt in my mind that I am capable of doing so. 

     The problem isn't time management. The problem is my priorities. I would much rather go out and do something worth while, like visit my friend Andre at Johnson and Whales University this weekend, than sit in my tiny dorm room writing blog entries complaining about the "college struggle." The fact of the matter is, these are the days that I'll remember twenty years down the road-- especially if I write about them. 

     So instead of writing a cliche blog entry on homework, tests, doing laundry or not getting into parties because I'm a freshman guy, I'm going to wait. I'm going to wait to do something exciting, because that's what I enjoy writing about, and the fact of the matter is, that is what people enjoy reading: excitement. 

Songwriting

     Songwriting is not easy. In fact, attempting to write a song with meaning, rhythm, and melody is often close to impossible. As one of my idols, Brian Fallon (lead singer of The Gaslight Anthem) once said: "I'd love to say I could sit down and write you a kick-ass song on command, but I'd be lying."
     Songs have the ability to calm, to excite, and to depress. Similarly, the act of writing the song has the same effect on the writer. Whatever I write songs about tends to effect my mood. For instance, when I'd write songs about depressing topics, like death, heartbreak, or confusion, I'd often get frustrated, snap my pencil in half and throw my notebook at a wall.
     What I'm trying to get at in this blog post is that I currently have an overwhelming urge to write a song. I have a chord progression, I have a melody, but I'm scared to write the lyrics. I'm in a perfectly good mood, it's Friday, classes are done, why would I want to ruin that? I guess I'll just wait till a dreary boring day next week when I'm desperately procrastinating for finals. It's going to be a good song, but it can wait.

Dumpster Dive

     Going home for break is never complete without being put to work by my ex-carpenter father. Every time I walk through the door, the smell of sheetrock, metal, or wood shavings smacks me in the face. As much as I'd like to turn around and spend the weekend at a friends, I know for a fact that my dad has been holding off on heavy lifting until I get home.
      So, I offer to help my dad like the good son that I am. Over Thanksgiving, my dad took the privilege of filling the bed of my Dodge Ram with half a ton of tile and broken cement. He was redoing the mudroom floor, and it turned out to be a harder job than he expected. (What else is new?)
      I drove the truck to a friend's house, who just so happened to be a contractor with a large dumpster sitting in his backyard. I rolled up my sleeves, put on a pair of work gloves, and my dad did the same. We began throwing handfuls of debris into the metal bowl, dropping sediment onto the lawn after every motion. As I continued the labor, I began to wonder just how polluted this man's backyard was.
     This man was a contractor. On a daily basis, he dumps truckloads of powdery garbage into this same dumpster, as do thousands of other contractors all over the world. The amount that my dad and I were dumping was enough to disturb me, but the thought of reality was shocking. In fact, I find the amount of pollution that enters "healthy soil" on a daily basis incomprehensible, and downright scary.

"Once" is Enough

     I was given the chance to see the play "Once" performed yesterday. The the plot of the play is an Irish musician who was left to rot in Ireland after the love of his life left for New York. Playing sad songs in bars led to meeting a mysterious Czech girl who convinces him to go after the girl. This is easier said than done, and it takes the pursuing of a dream to get the musician to New York.
     I loved the music of the play. As a musician myself, I appreciated the live instrumentals, vocals, and raw lyrics of the score. Each actor played a different instrument, all of which can be heard in common Irish sessions.
     As for the plot, it's been done before. Two people fall in love, but it's forbidden. The tragic love story of a Czech and an Irishman is just strange to me, and frankly, I could have done with out the annoying Czech accent.
     All-in-all, viewing "Once" wasn't a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon, especially after stuffing my face with Italian food at Tony DiNapolli's on Broadway. However, I don't plan on going to see the play again any time soon.

Frank Turner @ The Electric Factory

     As I've written in the past, Frank Turner is arguably my favorite contemporary musician. In September, I was informed that he'd be playing a small show in Philadelphia on the Friday after Thanksgiving. I jumped on the chance to by tickets, as I had $90 store credit on StubHub. The cost of two tickets for the show ended up being a mere $5, and I began counting the days to seeing Frank perform live.
     Leah and I saw Frank perform at The Stone Pony this past May, and it was one of the best experiences of my life. I had high expectations for his performance at The Electric Factory, which turned out to be an extremely nice building/bar immediately over the Ben Franklin Bridge.
     I learned from Frank's past show that unless you want to participate in hard-core mosh pits, stay away from the front of the venue. We stayed close to the back of general admission, and had a good five foot bubble between us and everyone else. I could see Frank perfectly, and his performance was outstanding. Due to a back injury, he couldn't play guitar, so instead he danced around stage belting out his original lyrics. Leah and I danced and jumped to the beat of each song; I knew every word, and I screamed each one.
     After the show, we wasted no time in getting back into NJ. However, the glistening lights of a 24-hour diner called to us. We parked the car and ran inside, trying to escape the cold 1 a.m. winds. Burgers, chicken fingers and milkshakes were exactly what the doctor ordered for a post-concert meal.
     I drove home on the Turnpike, reminiscing with Leah about how amazing the show had been. We were the only car on the road. It was one of the best nights I've had in a long time.

Thanksgiving Reunion

     Going home was much needed. I was antsy to see my friends, my family, and of course my girlfriend. However, it wouldn't be Thanksgiving break without bumper-to-bumper traffic all the way home, so it naturally took a long five hours to reach the Jersey Shore.
     After sitting in rainy traffic, peeing in water bottles and eating crappy rest-stop hot dogs, I finally made it to my cozy suburban home. My family greeted me with a nice home cooked meal, and Leah (my girlfriend) came over to watch a movie. It was great to see these faces, but I'd seen them recently. I wanted to see the people that I hadn't seen since August, and for that reason, I asked my parents to let me have a few friends over on Thanksgiving Eve.
     What was originally supposed to be five or ten friends resulted in about thirty people all standing in my newly finished basement. The roar of people saying hello to each other mixed with "Today's Greatest Hits" playing in the background didn't make my parents too happy. Around 12 a.m., they asked me to make everyone leave. One by one, my old friends made their way out the door, and by 2 o'clock in the morning, I was alone to clean up the mess that these slobs had made.
     I wasn't upset. I didn't mind cleaning up at all; in fact, I kind of enjoyed it. I hadn't seen my friends in months, and the fact that I was the one to host their homecoming was an honor.